A Question of Hope
by KylaBosch
Summary: Years later, Sansa asks why Sandor told her about his scars. Some times a simple question does not always bear simple answers. *Adult!Sansa/Sandor*


**Author's Note:** This was written for megs0226 via the comment!meme #3 on live journal's community sansa_sandor. Her request was: _years later, Sansa asks why Sandor told her about his scars..._ Please note this is was written as fluff and does not represent my personal interpretations of Sandor's person or the relationship he has with Sansa.  
**Disclaimer:** All this belongs to GRRM.  
**Beta Readers:** A huge thank you goes to onborrowedwings for all her help and wisdom.

* * *

It was in the small snow filled woods alongside the road that Sandor and Sansa had set up camp. The winter night had descended fast, and both knew it was a long way till the next village. Though danger lurked in the shadows, their horses were exhausted from the long journey, and in truth, so were they. The small fire before them flickered and danced, lighting up the small encampment; crackling and snapping as it consumed the logs it was fed. Beyond the flames, in the shadows of the forest, Sandor could make out the occasional shapes of curious wildlife; perfectly hidden behind the brush, only their eyes could be seen, reflecting the light of the flames.

'Why did you speak of your burns to me that night?' Sansa asked suddenly; her soft voice breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them. To anyone else the question would have come seemingly out of nowhere. Sansa, however, no longer spoke without putting much thought into her words first. The days when his little bird would peep for the sake of chirping were but a memory now. In place of the girl he once knew, who had been so easily blinded by empty beauty, now stood a watchful and wary young woman.

Her question hung in the air, daunting and unanswered. He knew not how to reply, for his reasons were as many, as they were few. Had he the gift of eloquent speech or clever words he would have known how to describe what he had only now come to understand himself. But he was a dog, not a spider, not a lion, and certainly not a mocking bird. How could he possibly explain that when she first laid her eyes upon him something deep within, unknown or perhaps merely forgotten had stirred? That it was what he saw in her eyes, not just her beauty, or her pure heart, that first drew him to her. Nor could he explain that it had taken him years and many miles away from the hell of King's Landing to finally understand that it was hope he had felt that fateful day on the Kingsroad.

_ 'Say what you mean, and mean what you say,' _ his grandfather would have said, had he been there.

'What does it matter? I was drunk, and tired your peeping about true knights,' he rasped, not daring to look at her. His pathetic attempt to dodge the question did little to deter her. Sandor could almost envision Sansa's perfect lips forming a hint of a frown. He felt her eyes boring into him and knew she would not back down.

'You once told me that a dog will never lie to you. So why is that you are lying to me now?' she gently queried.

Sandor pretended not to feel her shifting slightly so that their shoulders were touching beneath the heavy horse blanket they shared. It was not the first time that Sansa had innocently sought the close proximity of his company; in fact it happened more often now than ever before, clearly she had grown comfortable with his presence since their departure for Winterfell. Sandor told himself it had more to do the chill of the coming winter, and less with his person. It was easier to ignore the gestures, than to pay them too much heed and be disillusioned. He gave up long ago on such foolish notions and accepted his fate. Though he had come to love her, as best as he understood the notion of love, Sandor never allowed himself to hope that one day she might return his affections.

Even so, it was difficult to ignore the way Sansa watched him when she believed he was not looking, or the way her fingers would linger longer than necessary in his hand whenever he helped her on or off her horse. Now she had taken to sharing her blankets with him whenever they found themselves seated by a campfire. Upon occasion, she would even rest her head against his shoulder; tempting his senses with the warmth of her breath tickling his throat, and the sweet scent of her fiery hair. Time and time again, he told himself that none of it was real; he was buggering fool to believe otherwise. Yet some part of him could not help but hope that just maybe, the young woman had found something of worth in him after all.

'That was no lie, girl,' he rasped. He already knew that he would not deny her the truth; he never could say no to his little bird. Having experienced a lifetime of detached cruelty, Sandor had learned that vulnerability was not something he could ever afford. Risking a glance, he noted Sansa's pensive expression as she poked the fire with a stick she had found in the snow. In the distance, a wolf howled, while the flapping of wings was heard nearby as some sort of bird took to the night sky.

'Why me? Why not someone else, someone more—familiar,' she said in a quiet voice. Glancing away, Sandor kept silent, as he remained lost for words. Reaching out, Sansa gently touched his scarred cheek with her soft fingers. Feeling entirely self-conscious and awkward, he hesitantly met her gaze. The light from the fire gave her a warm, almost ethereal glow, reminding him for an instant of the Maiden. Yet it was the feel of her fingers caressing his marred skin, and the warmth he saw in her gaze that held him captive. There was something in her eyes that took him back to the time their paths had first crossed on Kings road, during her brief and first encounter with Ser Ilyn Payne. _Not all dreams must end in nightmares,_ they seemed to say; in that instant he found his words.

'Because you looked me straight in the face, and did not look away.'

Her eyes filled with unshed tears, and Sansa gently kissed his burned cheek, a hint of a sad smile on her perfect features. Neither spoke another word for their hearts understood what they could not yet say. With a soft sigh, she rested her head against his chest, as Sandor held her near to him. Together, they remained in each other's arms as the winter night bled into morning.


End file.
